Abell moved first. He closed the distance fast, his boots kicking up mud. His blade cut through the rain toward Torrin's guard.

  CLACK.

  Torrin barely got his axe up in time. The impact echoed across the yard, but Abell didn't stop. He pivoted on his back foot, swinging from the opposite angle.

  CLACK.

  Torrin blocked again, his arms shaking from the force.

  A third strike and A fourth strike came fast. Each one flowed smoothly into the next, the way his mother had drilled into him for years.

  Torrin stumbled back a step. His boots slid in the mud, losing ground.

  "Oh wow, Mary, look, he’s damn fast," Freed muttered from the doorway, arms crossed. "Faster than I thought he'd," he said, eyes squinted.

  Mary nodded in approval, her eyes tracking every movement. "I do say, this is quite surprising, but down underestimates my little Torrin."

  Abell pressed forward with his attacks relentlessly. His blade moved on instinct. This wasn't even hard. Torrin was just reacting, defending, already on the back foot. The fight had barely started, and he was losing ground.

  "Is this all you've got?" Abell called out. “I thought this was going to be fun,” he said, dejected

  He feinted high, and Torrin's guard went up; then Abell struck low.

  SMACK.

  The flat of his blade caught Torrin's thigh hard enough to sting. Torrin grunted, his balance wavering, but he managed to stay upright.

  Abell's grin widened. "After all that shit you talked at the tavern, I expected more from you."

  Torrin's jaw clenched. His palms gripping the axe even harder. The rain was dripping from his hair into his eyes. His breathing was already getting heavy.

  "Don't," he growled, voice low and bitter. "Don't you dare look down on me."

  He charged forward, boots churning mud.

  Abell sidestepped with ease, almost lazily, like he was toying with his food. His blade went across Torrin's ribs as he passed. Not hard enough to cause serious injury, but just enough to land clean.

  Torrin skidded to a stop in the mud, his breathing hard and ragged as he turned back to face Abell.

  Abell dropped his guard. He tilted his head, studying Torrin. "Seriously, man. This is the best you can do?" He let out an exaggerated sigh. "I was hoping for more than this. I thought I’d finally have something fun to do.”

  “I guess you are just talentless, Luxless. Nobody like I thought,” he said, harshly.

  Torrin's chest heaved. His grip tightened on the axe. He didn't respond. He just stood there, rain streaming down his face, chest heaving.

  Then something changed.

  His stance shifted from a two-handed grip to a one-handed grip. The axe came up differently, held closer to his body rather than out in front.

  "Hm, a new stance?" Abell said. Arms relaxed, without a care in the world.

  Torrin charged again, but this time it was different.

  Abell swung, “Again? With this amateur shit? But Torrin ducked under it. Almost like he’d read Abell’s movements.

  What? Was he holding out—

  Before Abell could recover, Torrin's shoulder slammed into his chest. The impact drove the air from Abell's lungs as He stumbled back, barely keeping his footing.

  What the hell?

  Torrin didn't give him time to think. He pressed forward, with his axe coming in low and fast, dragging some mud with it.

  CRACK.

  Abell barely blocked; the force rattled up his arms. He tried to pause and look at the damage to his arms, but Torrin had swung again. High this time.

  THUD.

  Abell raised his guard, but the blow hammered down on his sword hard and broke his stance. Causing him to slide back.

  One strike, then another, and another hard strike to his sword, left him gasping for time to recover, but Torrin’s onslaught was endless.

  "HAHAHA, that's my boy," Freed shouted from the doorway. “Mary, when did our boy get this strong? I don’t remember this.

  Mary rolled her eyes. "Unbelievable. I told you to stop spending all your time smiithing you oaf,” she sighed.

  Abell blocked another strike, but his arms were starting to burn. When did Torrin get this strong?

  “Isn’t it obvious Mary said. “In order to keep up with the other kids with Luxes, Torrin has to think more about his moves. He lacks raw power, but he’s smart.”

  “HAHAHAHA, our boy smart? You must be joking. Freed yelled, laughing hysterically.

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  “Damn oaf. Mary cursed.” “Go get this cocky brat, Torrin.”

  Torrin wasn't playing defensively anymore. He was exploiting patterns. Every time Abell swung high, Torrin went low. Every time Abell committed to an attack, Torrin punished the opening.

  Abell's right side. He always favored his right. The way he dropped his guard after combinations. How he stepped in too close when pressing an advantage.

  "Shit," Abell muttered, backing up for the first time.

  Torrin's face was hard, focused. No more anger. Just cold determination.

  He swung the axe in a tight arc. Abell blocked—Torrin pivoted and slammed the haft into Abell's ribs.

  Pain exploded through his side. Abell gasped, his grip on the sword weakening for just a second.

  That was all Torrin needed.

  The axe came around again, catching Abell's blade and forcing it wide. Before Abell could recover, Torrin's boot connected with his chest.

  THUD.

  Abell flew back and hit the mud hard. Rain splattered across his face.

  He looked up. Torrin stood over him, axe raised, breathing hard but in control.

  "Still think I'm talentless?" Torrin's said.

  Abell pushed himself up from the mud, ribs screaming. His breathing was ragged, and the sword felt disgusting in his hand.

  “Answer me, Abell,” Torrin said.

  Damn, I’m actually losing?

  Abell glared at Torrin, eyes full of anger, frustration, and disappointment. You name it. Abell was feeling every emotion.

  What am I doing? I could end this right now.

  Abell threw the wooden sword on the ground, the clank reverberating throughout the backyard.

  “Hmm, what’s he doing, Mary?” Freed asked, rubbing his bald head

  Mary sighed, “Isn’t it obvious, my dear husband?”

  Abell held out his left hand. A golden spark ignited from his palm, lighting up the whole area.

  Wait, I promised I wouldn’t use my...

  Abell closed his fist, and the sparks died in an instant.

  If I use my Lux now, I’d prove everyone right that I’m immature, weak, and nothing like her.

  "What's wrong?" Torrin said, voice condescending as ever. "Go ahead. Use it."

  Abell's jaw tightened. "I don't need it."

  "Liar." Torrin shifted his grip on the axe. "You're nothing without it, it’s plain to see!" He charged.

  Abell barely picked up his blade in time. The impact drove him back another step. His arms trembled once again. But he was smiling this time.

  Torrin pressed harder. Each swing came faster, heavier. The wooden axe looked like a blur through the rain.

  CRACK. CRACK. THUD.

  Abell's blocks got sloppier, and his footwork fell apart, but He was reacting now, not thinking. Just trying to survive and having fun?

  Then Torrin shifted on his back foot. His entire body coiled, and his muscles tensed. He gripped the axe with two hands, readying himself for a big, wide swing.

  He moved.

  Not fast. But fast enough to catch Abell off guard. “This ends now, Abell!”

  The axe came down hard, but Abell saw it. Felt it coming. His battle sense screamed. Move. NOW. He twisted into the strike, letting the force pass just beside him instead of through him.

  BOOM.

  The axe buried itself in mud where Abell had been standing. The impact cratered the ground. Dirt and water exploded outward.

  Abell hit the ground hard, rolling through mud. His ribs flared with pain. His shoulder screamed.

  “Damn those brats, my yard...” Freed mumbled.”

  Torrin's hands were shaking. That last move had taken everything, and Abell's vision blurred. It felt like his body was one giant bruise.

  I’m not done yet

  Abell pushed himself up. Slowly. All his muscles protested as mud caked his clothes, his hair. Blood mixed with rain on his face.

  Torrin was already standing, chest heaving, axe hanging loose in his grip. He looked just as wrecked.

  "You're still getting up?" Torrin's voice was hoarse.

  "Yeah." Abell spat blood into the mud. "I am. This is fun."

  The two kids were soaked in rain and mud, barely able to stand, but neither was willing to quit. A true showing of determination and grit. Freed and Mary had gone quiet, and even the rain seemed to soften in this moment.

  Abell raised his sword. His arms shook, but he held steady.

  Torrin lifted his axe. His stance was sloppy, too, riddled with exhaustion bleeding through his usual smug demeanor.

  “This is gonna end with one more exchange, get ready, Mary,” Freed said.

  Neither boy moved. Both waited. Reading. Watching for the smallest tell. Then Torrin's weight shifted. Just slightly. Forward onto his front foot.

  There.

  Torrin charged. One last desperate push. The axe came up high, committing everything to a final overhead strike.

  Abell moved. Not back. Forward. Into Torrin's guard before the axe could come down. His blade came up in a clean arc. Fast and precise. The wooden sword stopped an inch from Torrin's throat.

  They froze.

  Torrin's axe was raised above his head, mid-swing. But Abell's blade was already there. Already positioned for the kill.

  If this were a real fight, Abell would have won this, but... Torrin's axe continued its arc. It slammed into Abell's side.

  THUD.

  The impact drove the air from Abell's lungs. He stumbled, gasping, but his blade never wavered. Still at Torrin's throat.

  Both of them stood there. Frozen. Abell's blade at Torrin's neck. Torrin's axe buried in Abell's ribs.

  A mutual end.

  Then they both collapsed.

  Abell hit the mud first. Torrin followed a second later. Both of them on their backs, staring up at the grey sky, rain falling on their faces.

  Neither moved.

  "Well," Freed said into the silence. His voice was quiet. Respectful. "If this were real... You’d both would have died HAHAHA.”

  Mary stepped forward, arms crossed. "But technically..." She looked at Abell. "Your blade was positioned at my son first."

  “Then: "The winner is Abell." Freed’s voice boomed.

  Torrin didn't respond. He just let the rain hit his face.

  Abell managed to turn his head. "You... almost had me."

  "Almost doesn't count," Torrin said quietly.

  "Yeah." Abell coughed. "But without my Lux... you were better than me."

  Torrin turned to look at him. "What?"

  "You heard me." Abell grinned through the pain. "You're better than me without Lux. I just... got lucky at the end."

  For a long moment, Torrin didn't say anything. Then he started laughing. Quiet at first, but then louder. Not a bitter laugh but genuine.

  "You got that right."

  "Hey, that was fun... Can we do it again?” Abell asked, eyes lit up, uncharacteristically.

  Torrin’s face twisted in disgust.

  “What?” Abell asked.

  “Go back to how you normally are; that was unnatural,” he said.

  Screw off

  Abell blushed.

  That’s what I get for tryna be friends.